Paths
Not Taken, a
He
couldn't believe she was gone. It had only been three months, and he swore
every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the car going over the side.
An instant, and his beautiful, tormented Brenda was
gone.
Jax spent most of his time in a daze ever since he'd
lost the light in his life, after fighting so damned hard to get her. Nothing
really intruded on the shadows, not his family, not his business commitments,
nothing. Oddly enough, the only voice he really heard was Ned Ashton's, of all
people. Perhaps not so oddly.
Ned
had loved Brenda, too.
Not
as Jax had loved her. As a close
friend, a surrogate sister. But Ned was hurting, and Jax
could understand that at a level nobody else approached. Even that wasn't quite
enough to form any sort of real connection. He wasn't sure he could make
a connection with anyone, anymore, on any level where it counted. Brenda's
death had ripped something open inside him, and it was bleeding, seeping out
his life's blood through an invisible wound. He could do nothing to stop it.
All
he could do was sit, and watch shadows, and try very hard not to think.
Ned
stared at the phone for what felt like at least an hour, but couldn't have been
nearly that long. When the tinny voice demanded that he hang up and dial again,
he shook himself out of his momentary paralysis and cradled the handset with all the care one might use replacing the pin in a live
grenade.
Brooke
was doing very nicely, just celebrated her second birthday. The whole
contingent in Bensonhurst was well and happy. Mom had
broken her wrist but Dad was using it as an excuse to coddle her, and the
brothers were dating, getting jobs, fixing up cars, going to games, moving out,
moving back. Life as usual in
Oh,
and by the way, Brooke didn't call him Daddy.
That
privilege belonged to a faceless man with no name, since Lois was hesitant to
even tell him she'd fallen in love with someone else, much less give Ned any
clue to his identity. God only knew what Ned might do. Use the Quartermaine quadrillions to hunt him down and kill him,
maybe.
Not
that she'd said that.
She
didn't have to.
It
was clear as crystal in all the things she didn't say.
The
shattering of glass against the far wall brought half the household tearing
into the room. Emily looked at him, looked at what had moments before been
quite a fine crystal decanter of port, and grinned.
"Stocks
dip, Ned?"
He
didn't even look at her.
"Ned?"
Monica's voice. He didn't look at her, either. There was a
numbness growing in him.
No
chance. Ever again. It was over. Over.
"What's
over, Ned?" Monica again, very gently this time.
Ned finally forced himself to look at her. Whatever she saw in her face must
have frightened her, because she moved toward him, one hand outstretched. He
backed away.
A
corner of his mind mocked him at his retreat. What did he think would happen if
she touched him? That he would shatter, like that glass?
Edward
came into the room behind the women, and stared around, eyes darting from
Monica, to the liquid and glass fragments spread across the wall, to Ned.
"Somebody
want to tell me what's going on here?" he barked.
Monica moved as if to answer him, and Ned cut her off, brushing past her on his
way to the door.
"No,"
he said simply.
He
didn't stop until he got outside. Once there, he wasn't sure what to do next.
AJ came around the corner of the house and started up the steps toward him. As
soon as he opened his mouth, Ned was galvanized into action. In
the opposite direction, toward the garages. If AJ had made one smart
remark Ned would have beaten the crap out of him just for the sheer joy of
punching something.
Ned
knew he was on thin ice, emotionally, even as he could feel that ice growing
inside him. He'd been there before.
Every time he'd ever loved anyone.
So
he would do what he did every time he was persuaded to drop the armor and give
his heart to someone else, and they spat on it and stomped on it. He went to
work.
It
should have been so easy. His brother always had it easy, why couldn't it be
easy for him? Jerry looked at the books one more time, and gritted his teeth.
Not
this time. This time he was going to get the golden egg. Devil take the hindmost, and to hell with the lot of them.
No one would ever know, and if they did, he'd have enough money to get so far
away they'd never find him. Not this time.
The
next month was a living nightmare. Ned didn't talk to anyone, unless it was
directly related to business. He spent ten hours a day at his office at ELQ,
making deals, orchestrating takeovers, overseeing a year's worth of major
projects in a few weeks. He seemed to have the Midas touch. Edward was crowing.
AJ was glowering. Alan was watching. Monica was worried.
Ned
didn't notice any of them.
After
leaving the office, he went directly to the studio, spending another eight to
ten hours there working on the new CD. There were concerts to book, lyrics to
write, songs to polish. The band wasn't kicking -- they were getting paid
double time, and the studio was all theirs. Besides, they were used to sleeping
all day and rocking all night.
Ned
didn't sleep.
Not
much, anyway. He was getting by well enough on the three hours or so he was
able to force himself to lay down. He wasn't eating
much, either, but then he wasn't particularly hungry. Monica had tried, once,
to get him to take better care of himself. He'd snarled at her that she wasn't
his wife, or his mother, and to get the hell out of his face. Then he'd left
the room, not even noticing how stricken she'd looked. Two days later he'd seen
her again, and she'd been gentle with him. Too gentle, as if he was fragile,
would break if anyone handled him carelessly.
That's
when he knew she'd called Lois.
He
stopped talking to anyone in the house at that point, and spent all his time
either at the office, the studio, or at gigs. ELQ stock rocketed up. Quarterly
earnings took a huge shot in the arm. The band got nearly half the tracks on
the new CD laid, in between gigs from
Eddie
Maine was on fire.
Ned
Ashton was encased in ice.
Everyone
benefited.
He
didn't notice.
Jax couldn't take many more concerned visitors.
Working from his home wasn't a good excuse -- everyone who knew him knew he
wasn't getting any work done. It was difficult to get excited about corporate
manipulations when he couldn't keep a thought in his head for five minutes
straight. He couldn't go downtown -- same problem. Everyone wanted to talk
about Brenda, and no one knew what to say.
He
wished they wouldn't say anything. Nothing would help, anyway.
Feeling
the need to move, he shrugged into his jacket, clicked the answering machine
on, locked the door behind him and watched his feet move. He didn't realize
they were heading for the Backstage until he was actually at the club. Even
from the street, he could feel the music. He watched his feet, let them decide
for him. They followed the music.
At
least with the rhythm pounding in his head he couldn't hear his thoughts. That
was a relief.
Ned
was playing. He'd forgotten, or hadn't noticed, or never knew. But Ned was up
on stage in his Eddie Maine persona, all sweat-soaked white shirt flapping open
and black leather pants painted on, strutting, swaying, screaming into the
microphone, then dropping to a whisper, so clear Jax
could swear he heard the audience's heartbeats. Then the wail
again.
Pure, unadulterated pain, with melody, harmony, rocking guitar and a
relentless beat. Whatever had been happening to Ned lately, his
music was all the better for it.
Jax leaned against the back wall, absorbing the energy
pouring off the stage. Ned shone under the lights, sweat sparkling in his hair,
all liquid dark eyes and crying mouth and quivering body. The music beat at Jax, demanding response. Demanding
agreement. Demanding understanding.
Getting every ounce of heartache in return for that demand.
For
the first time since he'd understood that Brenda was really gone, Jax felt something. Truly felt it.
Anguish.
The
thought struck him from out of the blue. Brenda had loved this. Had loved the whole music scene, setting up the concerts, being in
on the creativity from the inception all the way through to the finished
product. She and Ned had shared something special from the beginning of
Ned's musical career, from the 'birth' of Eddie Maine, and she'd turned that
something special into L & B. She, and Lois, and Ned, and
Miguel. Now Miguel was gone. Lois was gone. Brenda was dead.
All
that was left was Ned.
No
wonder there was so much pain rolling around him. Surrounding and suffocating
him. Jax felt a connection he hadn't felt, ever
before, with Ned Ashton. Ned knew. Ned might be the only one who knew. Sonny
didn't count. Sonny was nothing. But Ned had loved Brenda. Ned had loved Lois,
and Lois was gone, just as Brenda was gone.
Burst
of wild applause, yelling and clapping and howling all around him, broke into
his thoughts, and he realized the concert was over. He waited just long enough
to make sure there weren't going to be any curtain calls, then ducked back
outside and around to the stage door. For the first time since Brenda's death, Jax actually wanted to talk. Maybe he'd found someone who
could actually listen.
He
was nearly to the door when it opened and a dim light spread out into the
alley. Jax pulled up, caution inbred whenever he was
alone in an alley behind a bar at two in the morning. A shadow glided out
through the door, then stumbled, catching itself by a
hand then sinking against the brick wall. The door swung shut and Jax's eyes adjusted to the near-darkness again.
It
was Ned, looking like he'd been hit by a truck. Jax
hadn't thought just how much energy must be expended in a show like the one Ned
put on, but judging by the looks of the man, it was more than was currently
available. Away from the lights, makeup scrubbed off, it was obvious even to Jax that Ned had lost weight. There were shadows under his
eyes, and he looked to be close to out on his feet. It made Jax
tired just to look at him.
Speaking
softly, not wanting to startle him, Jax asked,
"Ned? You alright, mate?"
Ned's
head came up, and he stared through the darkness at Jax
as if he'd forgotten how to speak. When he did finally answer, his voice
sounded rusty. Probably the singing, Jax shrugged
internally.
"Yeah. Okay."
He
didn't look it.
"Ready to call it a night?" Jax was feeling oddly protective. Maybe he was channeling
Brenda. He didn't know, and didn't examine it too closely. It was enough that
he was noticing something other than the shadows on his walls.
"Don't
want to go home." Ned laughed, a surprisingly
bitter little sound. Leaning his head back against the wall, he stared up as if
looking for the stars. Jax glanced up, but knew it
was a lost cause. They were too much in the city to see anything up there. Too
many lights surrounded them. Whatever Ned was seeing, it wasn't anything Jax could see.
Impulsively,
not wanting to face the silence himself, he offered, "How about my
place?" My, not our. Nobody
else, not any longer. Jax kept the thought to
himself and concentrated on Ned. It was safer that way.
Ned
finally stopped staring up at nothing and looked over at Jax.
Eventually, he sighed. "Yeah. Sure. Why not." He straightened up, but it took him a long
time to step away from the wall. When he did, his balance gave and he staggered
again. Jax caught him up. Ned stiffened. Jax held him just long enough for him to regain his
balance, then carefully took a step back.
After
a moment, Ned followed.
It
wasn't a very long walk, but it was an utterly silent one. Jax
felt less tired than he had in a long time, but he could practically feel the
fatigue rolling off Ned. Ned wasn't offering anything in the way of
conversation. Funnily enough, and not in a humorous way, now that Jax had found someone he could talk to, he couldn't think
of anything to say.
The
silence continued in the elevator. Ned leaned against the wall, staring at the
doors. Jax leaned back in the corner, ostensibly
staring at the doors, but sneaking several glances at Ned. The other man was
standing still, posture relaxed, but it was just that, a pose. Energy vibrated
through him, even as exhausted as he was. Jax found
himself responding to it, pulled toward it, shaken out of the pit of
inattention he'd been in for the last several weeks. Ned had been Brenda's
friend. She would want Jax to look after him. If Ned would let him.
The
elevator stopped and they plodded to Jax's penthouse.
The sound of the bolt in the door was very loud in the stillness of the living
room. The only other sounds were the subdued whoosh of the heater and a clock
ticking somewhere further back in the apartment. Jax
tossed his jacket on the back of a chair and gestured at the sofa.
"Make
yourself comfortable. Drink?"
Ned
nodded, sitting on the end of the sofa but not still saying anything. Jax poured them both Scotch, handing the crystal glass to
Ned before sinking down on the other end of the sofa. Ned stared into his
drink.
Jax went back to staring at the shadows on the wall.
"She
really loved the music, you know," he finally said, when the silence had
taken on a weight of its own, leaving him buried in the middle of it. Ned
jumped a little, startled. Jax smiled an apology, and
Ned finally looked up from his glass in time to see it.
"Yeah. She had a head for the business, too," he
smiled back. There were shadows behind that smile, as real and as dark as the
shadows Jax had been studying for days. The innocuous
remark seemed to breach the dam of silence, and Ned started talking. About the early days. Singing on a dare.
Trying to buy up every CD in the first run, so nobody in Port
Charles would figure out that Eddie Maine and Ned Ashton were one and the same.
Running into Brenda in a music store, and the conspiracy that
developed from there. Laughter, and plots, and friendship, and secrets
kept between friends until they threatened the very friendships they were bound
to protect.
The
memories started out funny, and ironic, and loving. As they continued, they
grew convoluted, and Jax learned about a lot of
things he'd missed, things that had happened before he'd come on the scene. He
quietly encouraged Ned's meandering with a few well placed questions, and heard
more of Katherine Bell's schemes, and Tracie Quartermaine's
hatred. AJ Quartermaine's stupidity,
and Lois Cerullo Ashton's bravery. Brenda's
friendship with Lois, and how Ned's lies, not to mention his family, had
managed to destroy it all.
By
the end of the narrative, Ned had finished his Scotch, and several refills. He
was pacing the room like a caged wildcat, energy practically steaming off him. Jax saw, for the first time, really, just what Brenda had
seen in him. More potential to be a real human than had ever
had the chance to develop. It sparkled from him, along with the anger,
at himself, at Lois for leaving, at never having the chance to be the father
his own had never been, at Tracie for driving away anyone good who'd ever had
anything to do with him, at Brenda for dying ...
Jax was moving before he knew it. Too
much anger, out of control. Too much like a mirror to his own feelings,
his own anguish. Too many of the same losses. Too
close to the surface, and something snapped. Jax had
Ned pinned up against the wall, using every one of his five inches of height
and thirty pounds of weight advantage to intimidate Ned into shutting up. They
were both breathing hard, both tense as trip-wires. Both much
too close to breaking. Jax didn't know whether
to kill him or kiss him.
Thought
was father to deed, and his hand went around Ned's throat, whether to silence
him or throttle him, Jax
wasn't sure himself. Then his head was moving, and his mouth was open, and he
was kissing Ned Ashton before he realized what he was doing.
Somewhere,
he just knew it, Brenda was laughing herself sick right about now.
Then
he stopped thinking completely and just kept moving.
Ned's
world did a three sixty. One minute he was speeding around Jax's
living room, purging every degree of crap that had happened to him in the last
thirty years and most especially the last three. Then without warning he was
suddenly splayed against the wall, held in place by Jax's
body like a bug pinned to a board by a ... well, a wall, from the size of him.
In
that instant, all the nerves, all the pain, all the pent up energy he hadn't
been able to expend working twenty hours a day exploded out of him like a bomb
going off. He went from so angry he couldn't see straight to so turned on he
couldn't see at all. It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked a man since he'd
been a teenager, when the only marketable commodity he'd had was his body, and
it went to the highest bidder. It didn't even matter that that fact, and the
revelations caused by it, of his relationship for pay with Monica, had hastened
the final split with Lois. It most certainly didn't matter that it wasn't Lois
devouring him.
If
anything, it helped that it wasn't Lois.
That
it wasn't a woman at all.
Every
time he'd been gutted emotionally, it had been by a woman. None of the men had
mattered enough. None of the men in his life now had that kind of power over
him. Not anymore.
Then
Jax's tongue forced its way into his mouth, and he
instinctively sucked on it. Pinpricks of light pinwheeled
behind his eyelids, and his hands clenched, pulling Jax close enough to qualify as a human blanket. Ned stopped
thinking completely.
Not
close enough.
He
wriggled, and Jax reacted by crushing him even
tighter to the wall. Ned could feel an impressive erection digging into his
stomach, and abruptly, hunger drove every other impulse from him. He growled,
low and loud, deep in his throat. That caused Jax to
back off just enough for Ned to get a hand between them.
"No?"
Jax asked, eyes pinning him as effectively as those
big hands had done.
"Anything
but," Ned answered, using his free hand to rip Jax's
shirt efficiently from neckline to hemline.
Jax grinned, a feral
expression Ned could feel mirrored on his own face. They got to work on one
another's clothes, tearing when buttons didn't give fast enough, balancing one
another as shoes and socks and belts and shirts made a trail to the bedroom.
When they arrived at the side of the bed, Jax tumbled
Ned down onto it. The only thing left on Ned's body was tight leather pants.
For an instant, he flashed back to the night Lois had bought them for him.
She'd unzipped them.
With her teeth.
He
looked up at Jax, wanting to ask him to use his
hands, wanting to take them off himself, unable to move when he saw the strange
look on Jax's face. He licked his lips, and shifted
his hips. He was hard, so hard he was aching, and one way or another the
leather wasn't going to stretch much further.
Then
Jax moved. He jumped lightly onto the bed, landing
over Ned, crouched with arms and legs on either side of him. Ned heard him say
something, it sounded like "not her" but he couldn't be sure. Then
those big, warm hands were on him, on the pants, easing him out, easing them
down. Jax stripped them off, following their passage
with his hands, his mouth, exploring Ned thoroughly as he was exposed.
It
was a good thing Ned had given up thinking. It wouldn't have done him any good,
given that every synapse in his brain was firing randomly, and that neurons
were melting at an astronomical rate. By the time Jax
pinned Ned's wrists to his sides and put his mouth over Ned's erection, Ned was
flying.
Apparently
it wasn't Jax's first time, either, by a long shot.
He took his time making Ned as crazy as possible before engulfing him down to
the root. When he got him all the way down his throat, Jax
started swallowing rhythmically. It was amazingly intense. Then, just to up the
ante a little and see if he could make Ned's brain literally explode ... he
started humming.
That's
all it took. Ned screamed, a full throated roar that made all the previous
moaning and begging seem pitiful by comparison. He bucked hard against the
hands holding him, not caring and not knowing whether he was gagging Jax, completely out of control. Happily, Jax had enough for both of them, and Ned was able to fall
to pieces in relative safety.
It
felt so amazingly good to lose control. Ned whispered, "Yes. Yes. C'mon,"
as Jax moved up his body, kissing, soothing, rubbing the trembling away from the exhausted muscles. By
the time Jax's mouth covered his again, Ned was
nearly melted into the linens. It took no effort at all for Jax
to lift his legs, a hand under each knee. Open him, shift against him, stretch
him, fill him.
Ned
groaned, a low, pained sound, as Jax settled into a
steady rhythm, moving against and into him. It had been a long time since
anyone had fucked him like that, over ten years, and it took some adjusting.
The mind-blowing orgasm had helped, and Jax was
taking care with him. That also helped. Ned unburied his face from its hiding
place against Jax's chest, and looked up at the tense
face above him. Jax's eyes were closed.
There
were traces of tears on his cheeks.
Ned
felt his heart clench, along with the rest of his muscles. There had to be some
release here for both of them. Maybe not healing. It
was too close, and too deep, for that. But something
different. Something new. Something that wasn't
rooted in the past, wasn't based on pain. Something that was a world apart. Just the
two of them. Nothing, and no one, else.
"Look
at me," he demanded, voice steady and strong. Jax
faltered in his thrusting, and Ned thrust upward himself, keeping the rhythm
even. "Look at me," he said again, more insistently. Jax stilled completely, but opened his eyes and looked down
at Ned's face.
"Fuck
me." Not her. Nobody else. Not here. Not now. So much unsaid. All of it understood, in that one sharp,
fierce command.
Ned
saw something break open in Jax's eyes and nearly
closed his own in response. But he couldn't. He could give no less than what he
demanded. So he kept his own eyes opened, kept them locked on Jax as Jax began to move again.
Kept them open as his cock firmed again, kept them open as his mouth fell open
and he began to moan. Kept them open as Jax's
hand came down and began to pump him in counter-rhythm to the movements within
him. Kept them open even as he came a second time, as Jax continued to fuck him through his orgasm, as he felt Jax finally fall into his own climax.
Kept them open as Jax curled around him,
buried his face in Ned's neck, and fell asleep. Kept them
open, and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, and wondered if somewhere,
somehow, Brenda knew about this.
And was laughing. And applauding.
He
wouldn't put it past her.
The
next morning came sooner than he expected, and for once, he wasn't awake to see
it. The shifting of the bed around him woke him, and he rolled over, into Jax. He froze. Jax was staring at
him.
He
didn't look hostile. Looked kind of ... relaxed, actually.
Ned blinked.
"You alright?" Jax asked,
a faint echo of the night before in the alley. Ned thought about it for a
minute, nodding before he realized that he'd made up his mind.
"I
think so. Thanks," he added, almost an afterthought, then
smiled a little sadly. Not giving himself time to think, he reached up, buried
his hand in Jax's hair and pulled him down into a
long, thorough kiss.
Jax didn't hesitate to participate. Fully.
When
they finally broke for air, Ned looked up at him, asking a silent question. Jax nodded, leaning forward to press a light, chaste kiss
on Ned's lips. "Any time, mate," he said, very quietly. Ned found
himself nodding in response.
"Yeah,"
he answered, just as quietly. Then he gently disentangled himself from Jax, gathered what was left of his clothing, dressed in
silence, and left the penthouse apartment.
Jax watched him all the way out the door. Ned could
feel it.
The
next time they met again with all their clothes on was ... strange. They were
on opposite sides of a land deal, Jax playing devil's
advocate, Ned going for the throat on behalf of ELQ. They cut one another to
shreds verbally, with the skill and ease of long practice.
That
night, the sex was hotter than the first time.
It
wasn't the first time Ned had lived a double life. Jax either, for that matter.
It was almost second nature to both men by this time in their lives. It felt natural.
Necessary.
Like breathing.
Ned
started sleeping again.
Jax took an interest in the world beyond his living
room wall.
They
started to heal, inch at a time.
More
meetings followed. A stock deal leveraged through one of Jax's
raided corporations, more blood-letting on the business front, followed by a
stolen weekend at a secluded lodge in the woods upstate. A summons to appear in
front of a judge, complaints by a local environmental group, Ned on the side of
the Greens for a change, and Jax on the side of Big
Business. It served ELQ's interest. It was good
press. It was another occasion of public enmity and private passion.
Soon,
it wasn't simply a buddy fuck between two men who weren't actually buddies. It
wasn't sympathy sex between two men who were too alike to ever be great
friends. It wasn't bonding over lost love.
It
was an addiction. Craved for its own sake.
Taken in the dark, whenever the need became too great to deny.
Neither
would admit it.
Neither
could stop.
Four
months of coordinated madness later, they met by accident in the Port Charles
Grill. Lucy Coe was trying to interest Ned in yet another hare-brained scheme. The usual. Ned was listening with half an ear, arranging a
new song with half his attention, mind going at warp speed behind the bland
'listening attentively if not actually buying' expression on his face. Then a
tall figure came through the side door, turned to wave to someone as he walked
in. The sunlight played around the strong legs, the broad shoulders, glinted
off the bright hair.
Every
thought in Ned's head flew out the window. All he could think of was clutching
at those shoulders. Feeling those legs moving between his
thighs. Winding his hands in that soft, thick hair
while that amazingly talented mouth drove him into the stratosphere.
"My
god, Ned, whoever she is, keep her."
Ned
wrenched his attention back to the here and now. "Pardon?" he asked
Lucy with a charming smile. She was craning her neck, looking around her with
avid interest for whomever had caught Ned's eye.
"I'm sorry, I was distracted, What did you say,
Lucy?"
She
turned back around to face him, a wide, wicked smile on her face. "I said,
whoever she is, keep her."
Ned
gave her a completely uncomprehending expression, carefully hiding his panic.
Lucy was a flake, but a very perceptive one, especially when it came to sex and
scandal. "She?"
"Whoever
put that look on your face. You looked like you just
got loved into another plane of existence."
She
had no idea how right she was. "Sorry, I was thinking about
business," he lied smoothly. She actually bought it, which said something
about her gullibility or his acting ability. Or both.
"Money." She brightened. "I can understand that."
She launched back into her pitch, and Ned screened her back out again. Glancing
around the room unobtrusively, he felt himself literally lurch to a stop when
his eyes collided with Jax's, who was sitting at the
bar. Luckily, Lucy was too deeply into her rose colored dreams to notice.
Jax just looked at him. Ned looked back. Message
received and understood. Rendezvous proposed and accepted. In less than the
space of time it took to think it.
Ned
smiled, nodded absently at the waiter, and settled into his chair, gazing
attentively at poor Lucy, still nattering on. A slow burn of anticipation began
deep in his stomach.
It
wasn't love. But it would do.
Might even be better.
Jax wasn't sure, not for the first time in his life,
what the hell he was doing. Fucking Ned Ashton was madness. It was also
satiation at the cellular level. The fighting between them had a fine, sharp
edge, and he found himself exhilarated by it, thriving on their competition in
the business world, soaking up the energy of the music at night.
Fighting the urge to touch Ned every time he saw him.
It
wasn't love. He didn't think he could love. His heart had been taken
from him when his wife had been taken from him. But it was something
compelling. He didn't want to risk looking too closely, for fear it would
disappear if he did.
He
left the Port Charles Grill with a sense of anticipation. Always before, their
coupling had been under cover of darkness, usually after one of Ned's
performances as Eddie Maine, covered in sweat and excitement and quivering
energy, poured into black leather and thin cotton. Sometimes
after a particularly fierce business battle, adrenaline running strong in both
of them. A discreet knock on the door, late at night, in the small hours
of the morning, followed by groping and kissing and humping from the door to
the bed. Often, they didn't make it past the foyer.
This
time was different. There was something daring about meeting one's lover in the
middle of the afternoon, when all the world was going
about its business. An air of playing hooky, in the most adult way possible, a
tinge of 'getting away with it', whatever 'it' might be. A
sense of breaking the rules.
He
found himself anxious to see Ned's body in full light. He didn't have long to
wait.
The
bell rang as he was pouring the second flute of champagne. He opened the door.
Ned stared up at him. Jax smiled, a wry, knowing
smirk, then swept his hand in a gesture of welcome.
Ned smirked back at him.
Closing
and bolting the door, Jax turned and leaned against
it. Ned had made his way to the bar and was holding both glasses. "Special
occasion?" he asked, holding one glass up so that the sunlight could
sparkle through the light gold of the wine.
"Take
your clothes off," Jax responded. God, his voice
was rough. Deep, as if it was coming from his toes. Ned responded immediately,
eyes widening and darkening, a barely perceptible tremble in his hands as he
lowered the glasses to the polished wooden counter.
"Here?"
Playfulness covering need. Jax
ignored the first and focused on the second. Desire was too strong in him for
games. He crossed the floor in three strides, pressing Ned up against the bar.
"Yes,"
he whispered into Ned's mouth as his arms wrapped around the smaller man. Then
the world narrowed to the wet heat of Ned's tongue playing over his lips,
darting into his mouth. Their hands clashed as they fought to strip one
another, and their blood heated too fast for complete attention to detail.
In
a very short time, Jax had Ned's trousers open and
pooled around his ankles, his boxers tangled below his knees, his tie and
jacket long gone, his shirt open all the way down. With applied effort and
Ned's willing cooperation, Jax swung him up onto the
bar. With single-minded concentration, he traced every square inch of flesh he
could reach. Beginning of beard shadow, deep dimples, full
mouth. A nibbling trail along the creamy white skin down the side of Ned's
throat, a side trip to explore the hollows of his collarbone.
Jax nuzzled through the soft curls of ebony hair along
Ned's chest, seeking out and tormenting each nipple then trailing along the
trembling muscles of his ribs, his stomach, ignoring his erection to nip at the
soft skin on the inside of his thighs. His hands were just as busy, tracing
patterns along Ned's arms, following the tensely outlined muscles as Ned fought
to stay still, to not fall off the bar as Jax feasted
on him. Muffled curses and encouragement drifted over Jax's
head, bitten off between clenched teeth as Ned did his best not to scream and
alert the neighbors. Jax appreciated the effort, and
did everything in his power to make it a moot one.
He
loved doing this to Ned. Taking the fierce, bright, cynical bastard who was
Ashton and turning him into a mindless mass of thrashing need. It was an
incredible turn-on. It helped that Ned liked to do the exact same thing to him,
at every opportunity. Turnabout wasn't just fair play -- it was a hell of a lot
of fun.
Jax finally allowed himself to concentrate on the hot,
dripping cock nudging him in the cheek. He spent some minutes mouthing Ned's
balls, slipping them into and out of his mouth, rolling them on his tongue. Ned
was writhing uncontrollably now, and Jax pinned him
to the bar with a forearm across his midriff. Wouldn't do for him to fall off
now -- broken bones would really break the mood.
When
Ned's cock was pointing straight up to the ceiling and drooling steadily, as
steadily as the moaning coming from Ned's throat, Jax
took pity on him and sucked just the head of the cock into his mouth. Licking
around it like an ice cream cone on a hot day, he pumped the slick shaft with
his free hand, keeping up an unrelenting pace. It didn't take long for the
balls under his chin to draw up. With one last lick and a fast, hard pumping
action, he brought Ned off, letting go his hold on Ned's stomach to cup his
hand over the spitting head of the cock.
Post-orgasm,
Ned relaxed into a jellyfish, and Jax loved to take
advantage of those moments of complete relaxation. Easing Ned off the counter,
turning and draping him over the rounded edge of the bar, he slipped between
Ned's thighs. Spread his ass cheeks. Entered him in one
strong move.
Even
half-conscious from a mind-blowing climax, Ned moaned. Jax
went deep, so deep he literally raised Ned off the ground with each upward
thrust. The feeling was unlike anything Jax had ever
gotten from a woman, tighter, even as relaxed as Ned was, hotter, with tiny
spasms running the length of the channel like little fingers squeezing his cock
-- the afterquakes of Ned's orgasm. It didn't take
long for Jax to come, on the edge as he was from the
illicitness of sex with this man in broad daylight and the exuberant response
of Ned's body to his ministrations.
Jax thrust all the way in and froze, his hands
clamping down on Ned's hips, holding Ned in place against the bar, every ounce
of Ned's weight against him as Ned's feet weren't touching the floor. Then Jax convulsed, shooting deeply within him, curled over him,
possessing him as much as he ever would be able to, doing his level best to
crawl as far into Ned as was humanly possible.
Utterly
wiped out, it took him several minutes to recover enough to stop squashing Ned
into the edge of the bar. Ned didn't complain, apparently not having either the
breath or the inclination to do so. When Jax finally
pulled out and stepped back, he wrapped his arms around Ned and walked them
both into his bedroom. He wasn't sure who was more in need of
the support, Ned or himself.
By
the time they made it into the room, they were both slightly recovered. Ned
shoved, just a little, and toppled them both over into the bed. Jax noticed a band of red across Ned's stomach and rubbed
his hand over it, gently soothing the angry welt.
"Sorry,
mate," he said quietly. Looking over at Ned's face, he had a sneaking
feeling he had a grin just as fatuous on his own.
"For fucking me into the middle of next week?" Ned teased.
"For nearly fucking you through the bar. Literally." Jax corrected
him.
"S'okay," Ned yawned. "Long as
you promise to do it again sometime. Soon."
"With
pleasure," Jax assured him, gathering him up
close to him and kissing him slowly. Thoroughly.
He
didn't know how long the kissing continued, but it wandered, as he explored all
the places, front and back, he hadn't had time to reach during the go-round
against the bar. Ned responded in kind, with as thorough and erotic an
exploration of Jax.
It
ended with them top to toe against one another, heads in each other's groins,
sucking in rhythm. Their right hands were clasped together between their
stomachs, holding tightly, while their left arms were wrapped around one
another's flanks, pulling themselves into the tightest human knot they could
manage. It was a long, lazy, slow suck, intensifying, then softening, then
speeding up again until Jax finally lost control and
shot down Ned's throat. His orgasm was immediately followed by Ned's, and he
suckled and licked, nuzzled and soothed, until Ned was clean and wet and
sleepy.
Feeling
much the same way himself, Jax used the last of his
strength to pull himself around, snagging the sheet with one hand. Ned snuggled
into his arms, and Jax wrapped himself around him, then pulled the sheet up over their shoulders. Ned was
asleep in moments. Jax stared at the sunlight
glinting off the wavy dark hair and the impossibly long lashes for as long as
he could, then gave up the fight and followed Ned into sleep.
The
sound of shattering wood and heavy footsteps shook him out of a warm,
comforting dream. Jax jerked up, feeling Ned start
awake in his arms, and instinctively glanced at the bedside clock. It read
Ned
must have seen the same thing, because he screamed "No!" and threw
himself between Jax and the gunmen. Jax was already reaching under his pillow for the handgun
he kept there, and didn't have time to pull Ned back before their attackers
started firing. In a scene direct from his personal version of hell, as if in
slow motion, he saw Ned take the first round of bullets, his body flying back
against Jax, blanketing him.
Jax must have screamed himself, because he could hear
someone yelling over the sound of the gunfire, but he was too busy to worry
about it. He yanked the pistol out, flipped the safety off, wrapped one arm
around Ned, rolled them both to the floor on the opposite side of the bed
against the wall and away from the spray of bullets, steadied his other hand on
the edge of the bed and shot back.
Two
of the men were down when the other stopped firing and turned to run out the
door. Jax realized the burning in his shoulder and
the difficulty he was having breathing were because he had been hit, at the
same time he realized that not all the blood coating him was Ned's. Feeling the
world waver as vertigo hit him, he scrabbled for the telephone and punched in
911. It took him two tries.
He
just had time to spit out his address, then "Shooting. Four men down.
Help," before his fingers went numb, his mouth disconnected from his
brain, and the telephone fell useless from his hand. He could hear the
emergency operator's urgent voice, from very far away, but he couldn't do a
thing about it. He felt himself fall sideways, draped over Ned's body. Warm blood, too cool flesh. Then the world went dark.
The
clock read
Mac
had been on the way back to headquarters from questioning a robbery victim when
the call came through over his radio. Just a couple blocks away, mind
instinctively calculating minutes, he swerved around the corner. Gunshots, 911
call reporting men down, nobody answering. Then it hit him that he knew that
address.
What
the hell had Jax gotten himself
into now?
Screeching
to a stop in front of the building and racing to the elevator, Mac pressed the
key for the uppermost floor and silently cursed rich men's innate need to live
as far from the unwashed masses as they could reach. From the sound of the
report, there wasn't a lot of time for rescue workers to be dicking
around waiting for elevators, but if they ran all the way up the stairs to the
top of the building they wouldn't be in any shape to carry anyone out. His
mental griping took him all the way to the front door of Jax's
apartment, but stopped cold when he saw the destroyed door hanging off the
splintered frame.
Clicking
into full-on cop mode, Mac pulled his gun and entered with swift caution. There
was no movement, anywhere, but some traces of blood leading from the bedroom to
the front door. So, somebody was wounded and escaped. That would make them
easier to track. At the entrance to the bedroom, Mac called, "Port Charles
Police!" then swung in low.
He
nearly tripped over two bodies, slumped just inside the door. He stopped to
check for nonexistent pulses, then a low groan caught
his attention. Scanning the room, he noticed the top of Jax's
head. Looked like he'd used the bed for a barrier while he
was shooting it out with the bad guys. Mac came around the corner,
nearly slipping again as he stepped into a widening pool of blood.
Christ
on a crutch.
Mac
stared for a frozen moment at the tableau before him. Jax
was unconscious, draped protectively over the also-unconscious body of Ned
Ashton, who from the waxy look of him, had taken quite
a hit. Acting again with instinctive speed, Mac knelt beside the men and felt
for pulses. They were alive. Barely.
Pulling
the sheet from the bed, thankful in a far corner of his mind that Jax wasn't the type to go for satin sheets, he ripped the
bedding up and thrust it tight against the wounds he could see that were
bleeding the fastest. It was hard to tell amidst the carnage. Concentrating on
saving their lives, Mac tried very hard not to think about just what it meant
to find Jax and Ashton, stark naked, curled around
each other, shot full of holes.
An
instant later he heard the rattle of footsteps and equipment in the living
room. "Back here!" he yelled. "Two dead, two
alive, but not for long if they don't get help!"
EMTs swarmed around him, and he found himself pushed
out by extreme competence at extreme speed. In less time than it took to tell, Jax and Ned were unwrapped from one another, field-triage
patched, strapped to stretchers and out the door.
The
EMTs had come on the heels of the police, who were
busily poking around the scene in an orderly, thorough manner. Mac leaned
against the wall for a moment, catching his breath. One of his detectives came
over to his side. "You okay, boss?" he asked quietly. Mac shook his
head.
"Keep
me apprised of what you find," he ordered. "I'm going to the
hospital." He started toward the door.
"Might
want to change first," the detective called after him. Mac looked down at
the blood-soaked knees of his trousers, the blood
splashed on his hands and shirt, and couldn't help but agree.
This
case was going to be a nightmare. But at least they had bodies. That would give
them something to go on. And if they were lucky, there would only be two.
He
continued to very carefully not think about the ramifications of Jasper Jax and Ned Ashton being naked in bed together at
Ned
was swimming, someplace warm, dark, comfortable. He
didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back into the bright cold. There was
something waiting for him there at the periphery of his mind, something ugly
and mean and painful. But there was something else, something pulling him back.
Something urgent that needed to be done, some urgent question that had to be
answered.
The
first thing he was aware of, even before he opened his eyes, was how damned
much he hurt. Everywhere. It took him a minute, but
he'd been shot before, and he knew shortly after becoming aware of the pain
just what had caused it. It was bad, but bearable, in large part because he was
floating on a sea of drugs. But even with the drugs, he knew it was bad. His
mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, his body felt like it was
wrapped up tighter than the Mummy, and he was weak as a day-old kitten.
It
took him a long time to work up the strength to actually open his eyes. When he
did, there was a face filling most of his field of vision. He tried to shy
away, but couldn't move, and the fuzziness resolved into huge brown eyes, a
button nose, and three heads' worth of red curls. Bobbie.
Okay,
so he was in GH. Again. He opened his mouth to ask
what had happened this time, when memory slammed into him with the weight and
force of a freight train. Mid-thought his question changed, and he croaked out,
"Jax?" The urgency in his voice was
unmistakable.
The
huge eyes grew impossibly rounder, and he could see her bite her lip. Her
hesitation stirred the edge of panic in him, and against the odds, he tried to
get up off that damned bed, find Jax and make sure he
was alright. The room tilted, and he fell back against the pillows, whispering
a shout with all the energy he had left. "Jax!"
Cool
hands soothed him, running over his forehead, pushing him gently back into the
soft pillows. "He's going to be fine, Ned," Bobbie told him,
repeating it when he didn't seem to hear her. He wasn't sure whether to believe
her or not. It had taken her long enough to answer him. He squinted up at her.
She
looked completely sincere.
He
decided, for the moment, to believe her, and sank back into that welcoming
darkness. The most urgent question had been answered. The rest, like what the
bloody hell had happened, could wait.
Jax awoke with a start, then stilled completely as his
rash movement jarred his side, starting a fire that threatened to gut his
ribcage. In response, his belly twisted into a knot and he nearly lost anything
that might have been left on his stomach. Taking very shallow breaths, trying
to reconnect his head to his shoulders, he concentrated on not passing out.
Somewhere close by, a throat cleared.
When
he could do so without vomiting, he opened his eyes and peered askance at Mac
Scorpio, standing next to his bed. He opened his mouth to ask Mac what the bleedin' hell had happened, when it came back to him in a
rush. Words came out, but they weren't the words he'd expected to say.
"Is
Ned alright?" His throat was scratchy, but the words were perfectly clear.
Mac stared at him.
Jax started to lose his temper.
Mac
must have noticed, because he started, a visible jolt, then
cleared his throat again. "He's going to be okay. Took three bullets, one
less than you did, and lost a lot of blood, but he's the luckiest son of a
bitch on the planet, next to you. Nothing major hit. Should
make a full recovery, once they pump him full of B positive and take the
stitches out. You, on the other hand, ended up with one through the
shoulder, one that broke two ribs before bouncing back out again, and a broken
ankle."
Jax stared down at his foot, barely visible through
the haze of pain fogging his eyes. "Shit."
"Yeah,
that would about cover it. You want to tell me what the hell went on back
there?"
"It's
my fault," Jax whispered, eyes unfocused as he
remembered the events of the afternoon.
Mac
leaned toward him. "How do you figure? Ashton's got his share of enemies,
too."
"They yelled my name before they started shooting."
Mac
stared intently down at him, then drew out a pad of
paper and a pen. "Start at the beginning."
Jax did, although there was pitifully little to tell.
He left out no details, but began the narrative when he woke to the attack, and
made no effort to leave Ned's name out of it. He made equally little effort to
expand on Ned's presence in his bed. Let Scorpio think whatever the hell he
wanted. It was none of his business.
Mac
stared down at what he'd written when Jax fell
silent. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, "Any idea who'd want to
kill you?"
"Present
company excepted?" Jax
asked. Mac just glared at him. Jax attempted a shrug,
then gasped and gave that up as a bad deal. It hurt too much to move. "I
haven't the faintest idea."
Mac
nodded, folded up his pad and stuck it in his pocket. "Maybe we'll get
something off the bodies. You got a license for that gun we found wedged in
your hand?"
"Yes,"
Jax answered tersely. "Will there be any problem
with the shooting?"
Mac
shook his head. "You were stark naked in your bedroom," the first
mention he'd made of the circumstances in which Jax
and Ned had been found, "with visible signs of forced entry and attack,
and the dead men were both armed to the teeth. It's a pretty clear cut case of
self defense, I'd think."
Jax nodded, then stared up at
Mac. "Thanks," he finally managed to grit out.
"Nothing to thank me for. Just doing
my job." With that, Mac turned and walked out the door.
Just
do it well, Jax thought at
his retreating back. Find out who did this. Stop them before they try it again.
Then
he lay back against the pillows, tried to breathe without moving his chest, and
worried about Ned.
It
was four days before Ned was moved from ICU and allowed any visitors outside
his immediate family. He didn't want to see any of them, and left instructions
with the nurses through Bobbie that he didn't want to see anyone, period. Over
the course of that time, he heard Edward's voice raised
out in the hall twice, both times cut off when the nurses called security to
keep the old man from disturbing the seriously ill patients in the ICU. The
only member of the family he saw was Alan, and that was strictly on a
professional basis. Alan didn't ask, and Ned didn't offer any details.
He
knew the town was afire with rumor. He couldn't bring himself to care. He'd
found something, something he hadn't even realized he was looking for. Then it
had blown up in his face, literally. He found himself missing it, even though
he couldn't articulate, even to himself, precisely what it was he was missing.
When
they moved him to a private room, he lost his guard dogs. It didn't take long
for Edward to find his way into the room. As soon as he did, the yelling
started. Ned didn't say a word, just sat there in bed, fiddled with his IV
tube, and let the vitriol roll over his head. As usual when his grandfather was
incensed, the hateful words started out hissed, then built to a full-throated
roar.
It
wasn't like it was anything new, anything he hadn't heard before. How ungrateful he was, how worthless, how much a disgrace to the Quartermaine name. Never mind that he wasn't named
Quartermaine. He was a disgrace to the family, a
failure, a pervert, a sicko, and that was all there
was to it. He hadn't been in bed with Jax because
he'd wanted the man -- no, he was there simply and solely to bring disrepute to
ELQ and shame on the Quartermaine family and it was
all a conspiracy to undermine Edward's authority and get his twisted paramour
into ELQ for nefarious reasons and on and on and on.
Eventually,
of course, Edward had to stop to drag in a breath. That much invective with
that much imagination required a healthy lung capacity. Into the moment of
silence in the barrage of irrationality, Ned said, very quietly, "You
drove away my wife. All of them. Now you don't like my
boyfriend. What do I have to do to satisfy you? Start dating animals? Become a
monk?"
Edward, completely speechless at this effrontery, turned on his heel and
walked out. That's when Ned noticed Monica standing in the
doorway, her expression a perfect blend of horror and unwilling laughter. Ned
responded helplessly to the inherent ridiculousness of the situation and
started laughing.
Once
he got started, unfortunately, he found he couldn't stop. Too soon, the
laughter gave way to hiccups, and tears, and he was crying just as hard as he'd
been laughing. A stupid thing, really. Ashtons didn't cry.
Quartermaines didn't cry.
He
was trying to explain this to Monica, as she sat on the edge of the bed and
gathered him up to hold him close, rocking him as if he was a child, running
her hand over his hair and patting his back. But he couldn't get the words out.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head in her shoulder,
trying to explain the unexplainable.
He
was still trying to explain when he fell asleep. He didn't feel her lay him
back against the pillows, or pull the blanket over his chest, or smooth his
hair back from his face. He didn't see Alan come up behind her, didn't know how
long they stood over him, or how they made sure that Edward wouldn't be back in
to see him any time soon. He didn't see their pity, or their support.
Jax was going stir-crazy. He hated hospitals even on a
good day, and he hadn't had one of those since armed thugs had broken into his
bedroom and shot the hell out of it and everyone in it. Hadn't had a good day
since he hadn't been able to see Ned, to see for himself that the man really
was alright. Not that he didn't trust the nurses, but
there was nothing like independent verification when it came to the important
facts.
A
sound at the door broke the circle in which his thoughts were chasing
themselves. It was the middle of the night, but he had a police guard, courtesy
of Scorpio, until they found out who had tried to kill him. Them.
So the visitor had to be a friendly or he'd never have gotten in the door. As
the man drew closer to the bed, Jax recognized his
brother.
"Jerry,"
he greeted him with less than great enthusiasm. "Been out of town?"
Familial closeness wasn't a given with the Jax
brothers, so it didn't really surprise Jax that it
had taken this long for Jerry to show. Still, tradition demanded the semblance
of irritation. To his surprise, Jerry didn't rise to the bait as usual.
"I'm
sorry," he said instead, shocking Jax. "I
didn't mean to get you mixed up in all this."
Instantly, rage flared in Jax. It wasn't him, then,
who'd been the target. It was Jerry. All this, Ned being hurt so badly, this
whole damned mess was Jerry's fault. Before he could either lambaste him or ask
him what the hell had happened this time, Jerry turned and snuck back
out again.
Jax reached for the phone. Five minutes later, Mac was
on Jerry's tail.
Going
home was almost an anticlimax. Jerry Jax had been
caught trying to flee the country, and the dead thugs had been identified as
heavies in the employ of a local mobster, for whom Jerry had been laundering
money before getting greedy. Now Jerry was in jail pending trial for
racketeering, and one of the local mob bosses was in jail awaiting his own
trial for conspiracy to commit murder and felonious assault. Ned was relieved
that the threat was removed, but other than that, he really couldn't care less.
About much of anything.
Jax was still in the hospital, and Ned went by his
room after he was discharged, but Jax was sleeping.
Ned spent several long moments staring at him, looking alien against the
clinical bedding, then slipped back out. Alan met him
by the front door.
"Need
a ride?" he asked. His voice was completely neutral, but his eyes were
almost warm. It was the most approachable he'd looked since he'd found out
Monica had paid Ned to have sex with her so many years ago. That trial had been
hard on everybody.
"Thanks,"
Ned offered in return, hesitantly. He was feeling shaky, like he was picking
through a minefield, or trying to walk during an earthquake. Thankfully, Alan
didn't say much beyond meaningless pleasantries all the way back to the Quartermaine estate. It was ... nice.
AJ
was in the living room as they came in the door, but Alan actually glared his
son into silence. Ned wasn't sure why he was getting the support, but he wasn't
about to question it. Edward came through the foyer as Ned was slowly climbing
the stairs. He got as far as opening his mouth when Alan interrupted him,
cutting off whatever he'd been about to say with a voice showing more steel
than Ned could remember hearing in years.
"Not
now, Father."
To
Ned's intense surprise, Edward actually listened. Ned did his best to ignore
all of them and made his way, step at a time, up to his rooms. All he wanted to
do was hide. Not from any feelings of shame. Edward's
opinion to the contrary, he had come to the point where he didn't give a
tinker's damn what the good citizens of Port Charles thought of him. He'd had
something good. He'd lost it. They could say whatever they wanted, but they
couldn't cheapen it, any more than they could get it back for him.
Because
there was no way on God's green earth that Jax would
want to have anything to do with him since they'd been so abruptly, and
violently, outed. He'd made it pretty clear by his
silence in the hospital -- no attempts to contact Ned, no messages passed
through the nurses, no phone calls, nothing. Ned swallowed hard and stared
sightlessly through the window at the wide sweep of lawn behind the mansion.
"You
don't know what it's got 'til it's gone," he sang softly to himself. Too fucking true. The story of his life, that was.
Distantly,
he wondered what it would be like to not only be happy, but to recognize
it while it was happening and actually have the ability to enjoy it.
Shrugging off the thought as yet another of life's mysteries he wasn't meant to
crack, he sat in the corner and stared out at the shadows of the clouds passing
over the immaculate grounds below. And tried his very best
not to feel anything at all.
Five
days of wondering if he should make the attempt to rejoin the rat race, and not
caring enough to try, later, Ned was still sitting staring out the window. His
grandmother, Alan, Emily, Monica, even Reginald had come by to carefully check
up on him. Edward didn't. Ned overheard one vintage Quartermaine
knock-down drag-out fight, wherein Monica informed Edward that it was, after
all, still her house, and if he didn't like her arrangements he was perfectly
welcome to go elsewhere, then there was silence from that quarter. It was just
as well. Ned didn't feel up to another rampage raining down over his head.
He
heard the front bell ring, but didn't bother wondering who it might be. He'd
made it quite clear he didn't want to see any visitors, should anyone either
care enough or be crass enough to come by. That took Lucy right out. Hard to feed the rumor-mill when the main grist wasn't being
cooperative.
The
door opened behind him, and he turned, irritated at being interrupted, although
he hadn't actually been doing anything. He froze in place as Jax hobbled in the door, leaning heavily on his crutches.
Behind him, Ned saw Monica smile at them both, briefly, then
shut the door firmly. Ned stared, unable to move, unable to say a word.
Jax took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he
said, the words coming out in a rush. Ned blinked.
"Sit
down before you fall down," he invited. Jax did,
making a controlled collapse into the wing chair by the door. "What do you
have to be sorry for?"
"My brother. My fault." He looked
like he believed it, too.
"Bull,"
Ned responded instantly. Jax cocked his head at him.
Ned elaborated. "We do enough stupid things all on our own without taking
responsibility for every stupid thing the members of our families do, too. None
of this was your fault. It was Jerry's fault. Period."
Jax was staring fixedly at him. "What?" he
snapped. Jax looked good, here in his rooms, so close
to his bed. Too good. Good enough to start believing
something might possibly be salvaged here.
"Was
it?"
Oh,
god, Ned wasn't up to cryptic right then. "Was what, what?" he
growled. Only sheer force of will, and a healthy fear
of rejection, kept him from crossing the room and kissing Jax
until neither one of them could form words.
"Us. Stupid."
All
the air left Ned's lungs, and breathing was suddenly painful. "No,"
he finally managed to squeeze out through a throat that felt like it was
encased in an iron collar two sizes too small to fit. "That was the only
thing about this whole mess that wasn't."
Then
Ned was on his feet, without thought or will, and found himself kneeling in
front of Jax. His hands were warm on Jax's thighs, staring up into deep blue eyes that were
staring down at him as if he was a mirage who'd disappear at any moment. Acting
on impulse, trusting instinct to save him and hoping this time it would
actually work out, Ned asked, "Stay."
"You
want me?" Jax asked in return. Ned smiled, the first real smile he could remember giving in a
very long time.
"Always."
With
their combined track records, he wasn't taking odds on forever. But one way or
another, he'd do his damnedest to make that one word into a lifelong promise. Jax smiled back. Reached down. And took his hand.
fin